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The Gospel of John, while consistent in many ways with the content
of the Synoptics, stands out in its unique approach. All of the Gospel writers
have the intent of persuading the readers to embrace salvation through Christ,
yet the Synoptics do not neglect offering a chronicle of events as well. The
writer of John, however, prefers theological reflection over historical accuracy.
While scholars are widely diverse in opinions about authorship, date, and
even audience, its intent is agreed upon: John seeks to portray Jesus’
relationship with God and his saving relationship with humanity in such a
way that his hearers move from “darkness” to “light.”
We return in this passage, of course, to the figure of John
the Baptist, but almost parenthetically. While our previous passages in Matthew
have focused intently on the Baptist—his appearance, his message, his
ministry, his inquiries from prison (with Luke even recording the circumstances
of his birth)—in John’s Gospel he announces the coming of Christ,
but quickly fades into the background. In fact the writer of John does not
even call this man “the Baptist.” Jesus takes center stage from
the very beginning. John the Baptist is adamant in this first chapter about
his thoroughly subordinate role. He is only to point the way to the one who
surpasses him; he firmly denies he is the Christ; he says that he is not even
worthy to untie Jesus’ sandals (vs. 15, and 19-27). It could be said
that John the Baptist identifies Jesus, in turn, as the only one who has the
capacity truly to identify him. Tragically however, while Jesus “came
to his own” they were not able to see him for who he was, or to receive
him as the Word of God. Yet the story does not end there. For all who do in
fact embrace him and believe, they become the very children of God.
Previous to the words of John the Baptist our passage begins
with what is called the “prologue” of the Gospel of John. Theological
reflection here precedes the introduction of historical events. John begins
by reflecting on the nature of the “logos” of God. He claims that
this Logos, or Word, was God and was with God in the beginning. John has here
said nothing foreign to the Hellenistic-Judaic mind. Greek philosophy, particularly
Platonism, (best expressed in its Jewish form by the thinker Plotinus) would
have affirmed this understanding readily. There is the Divine Being but there
is also a Mediating figure, or Logos, that bridges the Divine realm with the
human realm. What John does that is radically different is to identify this
classical figure with the person of Jesus. Gnosticism—an unusual amalgamation
of Platonism and other philosophies in a religious context—is thoroughly
and completely challenged by the writer of John. It can be argued that one
of John’s main purposes was to counter Gnosticism to its very core. Gnosticism
was “docetistic” which meant that it viewed the human body as inherently
evil, thus requiring a very different Christology. The Word could not have
inhabited a human body; that would have been unthinkable. Therefore, Gnostic
Christians believed that Jesus only appeared to have a human body. But John
counters strongly: the Word became flesh.
Another way that John’s Gospel counters Gnosticism is that
it presents life in Christ as more than didactic knowledge. Gnostic comes
from the Greek word for knowledge, gnosis. They believed that special knowledge
was the means of salvation, but that only the selected few had access to such
knowledge. John moves quickly to a very different understanding of salvation
through the “knowledge” of Christ. Jesus does not only teach about
the truth, he is Truth. Similarly, it is not knowledge about Jesus, but participation
in the life of Jesus the Christ that “births” children of the light
and life.
The Incarnation is a shocking event. Yet a deep sense of exactly
how radical it was is perhaps lost for those of us who are so familiar with
the Christmas story. Preacher and parishioner alike may strain to see something
new to proclaim. One of problems needing to be recognized is that we have
ironically made a very embodied event disembodied by our intellectual quest
for comprehension. As we know, there is a movement within the Church, even
within Evangelicalism itself, seeking to proclaim that Christianity has been
so syncretized with “modernism” that we falsely believe the interpretation
of Christianity through the lens of the Enlightenment thought and method is
equivalent to the Christian message itself. In other words, these new voices
argue that a Modernistic understanding of Christianity will render itself
irrelevant to the Postmodern world in which we now live. Christianity is much
more than a set of facts, propositional beliefs, or truths to affirm intellectually
or to “prove.” Christianity is about relationship—about “knowing”
intimately and personally the Person who embodies truth, who is Truth.
And yet, we do not need to recreate the Christian message. The
first chapter of John, for example, counters its own “modernism,”
so to speak, with a new message, with eternal significance. As stated, Gnosticism
attempted to create a religious system based on gnosis. The correct information
was “faith.” But John boldly proclaims that “darkness”
does not mean ignorance, nor does “light” mean facts. Darkness implies
alienation and light implies new birth. This new birth is for those who “pisteuo,”
who “faith” (who fully trust in, or who fully entrust themselves
to) Jesus Christ, God made flesh. Such invested belief (holistic in nature)
in an en-fleshed God is radical in nature.
What do we radically affirm? Some suggestions follow. First
of all, we affirm that God reveals God’s self to humanity through a Revealer.
The message comes from God to humanity. But God’s very means of revelation
has changed. No longer is God seen in physical manifestations such as a pillar
of fire, the clouds or wind, or a hand writing on a wall. Nor is God’s
revelation through the mouths of Prophets, although God uses here the Baptist
as one last voice to point the way. God’s revelation is radical. God
becomes human in Jesus. And so, God reveals God’s self to humanity, “down
from Glory” to common human life. Jesus, Word of God, reveals, truly
reveals God to us.
But secondly, and even more radically, we affirm that God’s
self changes, forever. It is incorrect to believe that “Jesus” existed
before the Incarnation. The Logos existed, the Second Person of the Trinity
existed; with the First Ecumenical Council, we believe that he was “eternally
begotten, not made.” “There was no time when he was not.” But
Jesus is born. God becomes human at a certain point in history. God becomes
fully and indisputably human. The Second Person of the Trinity becomes indispensably
human; in other words, when this God-man returns through the Ascension, he
does not cease to be human, as if he simply shed human clothes to return to
a pre-Incarnation state. The Incarnation itself is not a blip on the screen.
It is easy for us to say that God so loved the world that “he gave his
son.” Is it as easy to say that God so loved the world, that God was
willing to change what it meant to be God? We want a consistent God. We want
an “unchangeable” God, implying not only his changelessness in character
but also in God’s way of Being. It gives us security that God is “immutable.”
However, the radical-ness of the message comes from the very fact that in
the Incarnation, we are not only changed, the world is not only changed, and
history is not only changed. God is changed. His willingness to take on flesh
was truly an act of self-giving love. And because of that willingness, because
of this unfathomable paradox, God has not only a Divine but also a human heart—one
that has experienced our every suffering, our every human need. And therefore,
God actually can empathize with the human condition because God lived human
life. God becomes vulnerable to the human condition, even to the point of
death. It could be said that Jesus, Word of God, truly reveals us to God,
not only then, but now.
(For the full manuscript
of this sermon go to www.preachermagazine.org and click on “Sermons”)
It is always tempting for the preacher to proclaim “the
truth” in such a way that the congregants comprehend the points we are
trying to make. But particularly in this message, the goal is not comprehension
alone but that the congregants encounter the truth. At the heart of this Gospel’s
message is the mystery we often find in paradox. There is no way to explain
adequately the following: the God of the universe coming to us as a baby;
if we want to save our lives we must lose them; eternal life comes from a
horrific death; an innocent man bears the sins of the world; and sometimes
in order to understand the mystery of God we must surrender our need to intellectually
apprehend him.
I would suggest that this message is best given in the form of induction. Build with questions, ones that are not answered directly, but through symbolism that is used often by the writer of John. The manuscript of this message focuses on the theme of the vulnerability of God. It begins with a personal story about a vulnerable time in my life, the vulnerability we all feel in this day and age, and then moves to explore a kind of love that willingly makes itself vulnerable to pain. This is the love of God. After listing dozens of ways that Jesus lived vulnerably in this world, I state that the greatest vulnerability of all is this: The Word was God and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. “In Christ, we see that God’s power becomes vulnerable to God’s compassion we see that God’s majesty becomes vulnerable to God’s mercy, we see that God’s glory becomes vulnerable to God’s grace, as God empties himself into humanity. And they heard him, and saw him, and touched him. And proclaim him to us: if we want to know what God is like, we look at Jesus,” (see related sermon). Again, preaching this passage for the purpose of encounter will need story, symbolism, and paradox, not an expositional review of statements or facts.